Wings With Which to Fly
by Iwaveatyou87
Summary: There is an instinct in a woman to love most her own child - and an instinct to make any child who needs her love, her own. -Robert Brault
1. how it started

Oh, God. Okay. Well. Here I am, and here it is. It, um. I knew where I was going when I started it, but...it has since developed a mind of its own, and I have no idea where the hell I eventually ended up. I like to think there's a recurring theme, here, but I really don't know anything about anything any more. I just had to get it done, so here it is, FINALLY DONE. (Edit: AND IN _CHAPTERS_. You're effing welcome, people.)

Disclaimer TO THE EXTREME: At this point, I don't even feel disappointment any more when I'm forced to admit that I don't actually own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!. All I feel is numbness.  
>Also, this one's completely un-beta'd because I've lost patience and had to publish it NOW. Be ye warned.<p>

Enjoy.

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><p>.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.<p>

_i. how it started_

The morning of her tenth birthday, Fukami Nana woke to the sound of chirping outside her window, except instead of the happy and burbling chirps she was used to hearing in the early hours of the day, these sounds were shrill and frantic and distressed. She slipped on a robe and slipped out the door, scurrying around to the side of the house to find a bird no bigger than the palm of her hand flapping fruitlessly from where it had presumably fallen out of a tree – its wings obviously were not mature enough to lift it even an inch off the ground, but it was beating them fervently enough to propel itself sporadically in different directions, floundering in haphazard semicircles where it lay and bleating out a steady stream of panicked chirps.

The sight almost broke her heart where she stood.

She scooped up the bird in her palm, and it stopped chirping and tensed, frozen with fear at the potential predator. She paid this no mind, however, and carefully inspected the little bird's body for injury, prodding gently with her index finger to coerce it into rolling over (it flopped limply like a fish out of water, primal survival instinct clearly telling it to play dead) and concluding that its wing was broken from the awkward way it held the fuzzy appendage to its side.

Without a second thought she carried it delicately back into the house, cradling her palm to her chest protectively as she located the empty shoebox under her bed, filled it with tissues and cotton balls, and set it on the windowsill where it could get lots of sunshine. She placed the bird amongst the fluff in the box, the downy yellow contrasting brilliantly against the white, and after assuring herself that it would be perfectly all right without her for a few seconds, she ran to the bathroom to locate the smallest bandages they owned.

Her parents found her hunched over the box on her windowsill, fastidiously wrapping the little bird's broken wing in a bandage that she had halved to accommodate the bird's size.

Her mother the housewife squirmed and said happy birthday in a very pinched and uncomfortable way, as though she was far more concerned about the potential pathogens the bird could be carrying rather than its well-being. She left quickly to cook breakfast and shake her head and wonder what on earth went through children's minds to pick up something so dirty and think it was all right to keep it in the house.

Her father the doctor sat down beside her and showed her how to wrap the bandages a little more crisply, so as to properly align the little bird's wing and speed up the healing process. He smiled at Nana and told her what a brave and selfless thing she'd done, to help this defenseless little creature and keep it safe from harm until it was healthy and strong enough to fend for itself.

Nana watched the little bird heal and grow for three weeks, keeping its bandages fresh and her window open, until one morning she awoke to the frayed remnants of bandages and an empty shoebox.

She moved slowly, emptying the contents of the box into the trash and carefully stowing it back under her bed, just in case.

.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.

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><p>As my mother used to say when I would try and shove things like an entire cake into my mouth at once, "Take people bites, not elephant bites." For the next few days, I'm going to try and break this thing down from the elephant bite it used to be into smaller, more manageable people bites. Hopefully, that will make it a little easier to chew and swallow. (YEAH EXTENDED FOOD METAPHOR.)<p>

Also, I'm hoping for a couple reviews for my trouble. :D


	2. how it blossomed into something more

So I'm assuming that since this fic has been previously disclaimed, I don't need to do it again for this chapter? I don't know - this is my first chapter fic, so I'm not very well versed in proper chapter etiquette.

Oh, and I forgot the dedication last chapter - because it's about Tsuna's mother, this one's for _my_ mother, who made me laugh when she said that one of the reasons she found _Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead_ to be so fantastic was because she had never thought of taking someone else's characters and writing something new with them. Dear mom, welcome to every single moment of my spare time ever, ff.n. :D

Anyway, enjoy.

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><p>.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.<p>

_ii. how it blossomed into something more_

The summer that Nana was fourteen, she began volunteering at Namimori General Hospital as a junior helper after her father the doctor put in a good word with the higher-ups. The work could be difficult and the patients could be trying, but she loved the feeling of being a part of something so conducive to society that she came to spend most of her time that was not otherwise occupied with schoolwork at the hospital.

Mostly, she helped the nurses with the patients on the fifth floor when they were short-staffed, in the ward for the injured-but-not-critically-injured. That was her favorite ward, because many of the patients were there for at least two or three weeks, which meant she could really get to know and make friends with them rather than feed solely off of the significantly less substantial interaction that was inevitable with patients with minor injuries who were in and out of Nami General in a day or two. She spent her afternoons bringing food to the patients, talking and laughing with them or singing and reading to them, doing everything in her fourteen year old power to assure them the most comfortable hospital stay possible.

The day Iwasaki-san was sent home from the hospital was like any other day, though he had promised to wait until after school to check out so she could see him off. He'd taken a particular liking to her, and she to him – the poor man had been in the hospital with a broken hip and a bruised clavicle, and any family lived several hours away, so she made sure to spend extra time in his room listening to war stories and talking to him about what she was learning in school. She was disappointed to see him leave, selfish as she knew that was, and even more disappointed to watch the nurses changing the bedclothes in his room and preparing it for a new patient. Granted, she was glad his hip was healing properly, and she was always glad to know that a patient could be in the comfort of their own home rather than in the crisp and impersonal rooms of Nami General, but she always felt as though she was losing a friend every time one of the patients left the hospital – which, she supposed, she was.

One of the nurses pushed past her purposefully as her pager went off, and the other nurses finished straightening the now-empty room and filed out into the hallway behind her, which left Nana to mill about the room and idly smooth out nonexistent wrinkles in the bedspread as she chuckled to herself at a joke Iwasaki-san had told her the other day over homework. It was a little foolish for her to get so attached to a patient, since they all had to leave at some point, but Iwasaki-san...he was unique and charismatic, and she would certainly miss him.

Lost in thought, Nana didn't notice the presence of someone else in the room until she was bumped by a nurse in garish scrubs who was maneuvering a wheelchair around to face the bed and nagging the person in it – something about being lucky he hadn't gotten himself killed, and what on earth had he been doing on that side of town, and a few inches to the right and one of those bullets could have taken his life, and how he'd gotten those burn marks on his legs in that situation she would never know.

The nurse, while not particularly overweight, was built like a refrigerator and consequently took up a considerable amount of space, and she completely blocked Nana's view of the new patient until he was properly situated and she was wheeling the now-empty wheelchair back out into the hallway and shaking her head.

Sitting upright in the hospital bed and hooked up to a couple of monitors and an IV drip was a young man who couldn't have been more than three years her senior, with scruffy hair that actually seemed to be naturally blond and chiseled features that should have aged him considerably but somehow didn't quite manage the job. He was also sporting an impressive array of bruises that started at his temple, colored his left eye, and zigzagged their way down his face and chest until they disappeared beneath the neckline of his hospital gown. His right shoulder was bandaged thickly and dotted with crimson flowers of blood, and his left arm was covered in cuts which, while not particularly deep, still looked fairly gruesome.

It took her a moment before she realized he was speaking to her, and another to realize she had been staring unabashedly at his wounds for a silent minute or two. She blushed self-consciously, but he kept talking – something about how he didn't even need to be here, if you asked him, which nobody had, now that he thought about it, and how if she thought the wounds on his shoulder were impressive then she should see the bullets in his abdomen and the second-degree burns on his legs

When the first question out of her mouth was not 'how did you get them' but 'how long will you be staying', she watched the approval dance behind his big brown eyes and decided she would like this new patient very much.

The day that Sawada Iemitsu left the hospital was _not_ like any other day, because while he had waited for her until after school to check out, he had also asked her to wheel him home, and meet his mother, and make sure she kept in contact with him, because he professed (loudly and quixotically and many, many times) that without her sunny smile and sweet disposition, he couldn't possibly recover fully from all of his injuries (which, coincidentally, were healing quite nicely) and any more he may or may not sustain in the near future.

She, of course, was appalled at the thought that he would let himself get into that kind of trouble again, and promised to keep in contact as she wheeled him down the streets of Namimori and the autumn leaves skittered around their feet and he smiled up at her with his big brown eyes.

When he showed up in the hospital lobby two weeks later complaining histrionically of a broken finger and an empty heart, she knew that she would not be rid of Sawada Iemitsu so easily, which she found she didn't mind in the least.

.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.

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><p>Well, this is certainly exciting. And also obscenely laborious. And I'm only on the second chapter.<br>Why do people make a habit out of writing chapter fics?  
>Because oh my goodness, this sucks.<p>

Sigh.

Review, please! :)


	3. how reborn is different

[Edit:] Do you know, it's probably worth mentioning that in this character study, I was strictly sticking to the Nana in the anime. _Not_ the Nana in the manga. They're completely separate people, to me. I know that manga-Nana gets less ridiculously abusive as the series progresses, but I sincerely did not like her at first. Anime-Nana is the only Nana for me.  
>Of course, as far as I'm concerned, Naito Longchamp never even existed at all, so you can see why I tend to favor the anime. :D<p>

Anyway, enjoy.

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><p>.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.<p>

_iii. why reborn is different_

It was chilly and still very dark when she awoke, another mild morning in mid-September, and she rolled over and reached out to pull her husband a little closer and go back to sleep for another ten minutes.

But instead of finding a strong broad chest and a warm set of arms she could wrap herself in, her fingers grasped at the empty comforter for a moment before she remembered with a jolt of unhappiness that he was still away on business. She moved to lay on her back, flinging a hand over her face and feeling that familiar weight of depression sink a little lower in her stomach, weigh down her already-leaden limbs, increase that weight on her shoulders and in her heart by just a little, just enough to make her want to close her eyes again and stay in bed for the rest of the day.

Depression, she had come to understand, was an interesting thing.

It was a kind of constant buzzing in the back of her mind, a lingering weight on her smile and her day. When she was happy, she was never _really_ happy; when she was sad or upset, it was suffocating and dark, _so_ dark, as if the light of the sun could no longer reach her in the iron-sided prison that the constant nagging sense of melancholy had sealed her in – as if the sun itself had grown listless and lifeless. The world, it seemed, was cold and bleak and dreary, and as the colors of her world dimmed and faded, the line between night and day had grown very fine, blurred and blotted, and more and more often she found herself lying in bed and staring dimly at the distant moon and wondering how many hours she had left before she was dragged through the motions of another empty day. Even the things that used to make her the happiest could now only inspire a small flutter of heart and a quirk of her lips.

And oh, but it was _so_ tempting to sink down into the heavy softness of her comforter, to close her eyes and pretend the world didn't exist, could go on without her, could –

No.

Nana took a deep breath and rolled out of bed, moving towards her window and flinging open the curtains. There was no use in dwelling on things that were beyond her control, and as she moved to her mirror and brushed out her hair, she bared her teeth at her reflection in what was supposed to have been a smile but looked more like a grimace, a gesture that was more defiant than anything else – but when mama wasn't happy, nobody was happy, and the least she could do was keep this unhappiness that plagued her mind and body from tainting the lives of the people she loved.

With a fierce nod of approval at her now-groomed face in the mirror, Nana traipsed down the steps and out the front door into the cool gray dawn. She stretched, breathing in the crisp morning air, and shook some of the heaviness out of her extremities.

Instantly she felt it, that all-too-familiar invisible force pulling her down, making every step ten times more difficult than it should have been, but -

The right mindset could do wonders, she thought savagely as she moved toward the mailbox and fished out the mail. She marveled with slightly aggressive interest at the letter for a home tutor that was an anomaly in her morning routine. Live-in tutor, room and board along with meals for a guaranteed marked improvement in her child's academic skills and grades – along with a rather flamboyant promise to turn him into the "leader of the next generation", whatever that was supposed to mean – which meant that he could be getting marks that were higher than single-digits, for a change –

Change. Change was just what she needed. What she and Tsuna _both_ needed.

His test scores currently averaged out to an abysmal 17.5 (which told her that he seemed to have inherited his father's brains, the poor dear, but she could never seem to hold it against him and the one time she _had_ tried to force results out of him, his scores had dipped even more spectacularly, so that plan had been quickly scrapped), but for all that Tsuna seemed to be worth at school, he was remarkably perceptive when it came to other people and their emotions. He had never directly confronted her about it, because he was about as confrontational by nature as a frightened baby rabbit, but she knew he had picked up on it a long time ago. She could tell from the way he seemed to tiptoe around her lately, careful with the way he spoke to her, heavily complimenting the meals she cooked and finding constant means of quickly changing the subject or making a hasty exit.

But this – this would provide some distraction for the both of them, would stir up the dull and dreary monotony of their lives, would bring back a sliver of positivity in Tsuna's newfound academic achievement.

The rest of the morning was a blur, for a change, as she dialed the number on the stationary and cooked breakfast for three once again.

The act of cooking itself was something sort of cathartic, she knew, and though she had always loved it, lately she had simply not had the energy to make much more than rice and cup noodles. At times she felt guilty for it, when she wasn't feeling so overwhelmed by sadness and apathy that there was simply no room for any other emotion, because she knew the way she cooked at home affected not only herself but Tsuna as well. Lately, however, she had taken to giving him generous amounts of pocket money so that he could buy something on his way to or from school if he wanted, which seemed to get the nutrients that she could never quite manage to provide for him nowadays back into his diet.

This morning, however, she cooked a veritable feast, especially compared to what she'd been cooking the past few...weeks? months? more? she wasn't quite sure – miso soup, rice with nori, nattō, rice porridge, tamagoyaki, grilled fish, and tsumago, as well as a couple of slices of toast and several fried eggs on the side. She set down the green tea and stepped back for a moment, admiring her handiwork with a little flutter of pride and happiness that told her she should have started cooking for three a long time ago, and went back to chopping vegetables before the amount of sunlight filtering in through the kitchen window registered and she looked up at the clock.

He was as confrontational as a rabbit and slept about as much as a hibernating bear.

This morning it was a little easier to go through the motions, she found, as she trilled over how the young and good-looking new tutor would be a wonderful benefit to their household and didn't have to work at it so hard; in return, she watched a little bit of the usual apprehension fade from her son's eyes and actions – of course, it quickly returned when he realized how late he was, but it wasn't directed at her, and she marveled at how much of a difference a little bit of happy news could bring.

That said, Reborn-kun was a bit of a surprise.

It was clear to her from the moment she laid eyes on him that he was no ordinary baby. She didn't know what he was, exactly – she knew, deep down in the depths of her intuition, that she may never know what he was _exactly_ – but Nana was no fool, depressed though she may or may not have been. She knew he was something special as soon as she first saw him, and his sophisticated speech and actions only reinforced her suspicions.

That, and when Tsuna scurried out of the house without eating a bite of her beautiful breakfast, Reborn-kun turned to her and suggested the two of them split his portion after he returned from making sure Tsuna successfully made it to school because not only would it be a shame for so much delicious-looking food to go to waste, but they could also discuss the specifics of his stay as Tsuna's tutor over breakfast.

It was after breakfast and over coffee that Reborn-kun assured her he could hardly wait for lunch because breakfast was so delicious, and when he smiled at her over his steaming mug of espresso, she felt herself genuinely smiling back.

.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.

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><p>No, seriously, this is not enjoyable for me. This story, which I am actually incredibly proud of, took me about six months to finish because I kept losing my changes thanks to Document Manager and Microsoft Word in what seemed to be a combined effort to make my life as difficult as possible. In addition to having to rewrite the majority of this story several times, I also did a metric ton of research about things like hospitals in Japan and clinical depression and common Japanese cuisine and Italian geography (seriously, you have no idea how much research went into this thing) to make everything sound super-believable, especially in this part.<p>

Although, looking back at this chapter, I now see that it is really obvious that I've never been clinically depressed, and for that I am truly sorry.

But! No more of my bitching and kvetching, for now. Instead, how about some sugar, sugar?

Review? :D


	4. how bianchi is not

Chapter four and we are _so_ golden. Actually, this one's one of my favorites, so be sure and show it the love it deserves, in my very humble opinion, by making sure to review at the end.

And, please, do enjoy._  
><em>

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><p>.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.<p>

_iv. why bianchi is not_

Things would have played out decidedly differently, had it been anyone else.

When the doorbell rang she was up to her elbows in dishwater and soap suds, having been scrubbing out her mother's casserole dish along with several other pots and pans that were too big for the dishwasher, and she yelled blindly over her shoulder for the caller to wait a few moments. She dried her arms and peeled off her rubber gloves, and laying them over the edge of the sink, she scurried to open the door.

The first thought to go through her mind was that this girl probably ought to be in school – she quickly dismissed the notion, however, as she noted that the girl, who was leaning casually against the post on their porch, had a sort of ageless ambiguity about her in that although she was clearly very young, she could very well have been in her late teens to mid-twenties. She was also strikingly exotic, with pale skin and sort of burgundy hair, and when she took off her sunglasses her eyes were a muted olive green that told Nana she was not from anywhere around here.

When she spoke it was with no accent, however, except on the stresses in her name, which made Nana vaguely suspect Italian lineage.

After Bianchi straightened up and introduced herself, she asked for Tsuna, and when she was politely informed that Tsuna was at school, she asked for Reborn.

This struck Nana as a little odd – Reborn-kun had been living with them for just shy of a week now and she hadn't even told the neighbors about him yet – but the familiarity with which she referred to him made Nana stop and think for a moment. She hadn't even considered the idea that Reborn-kun might have friends or family that he would talk to on a regular basis, inform them of what he was doing or where he was living, but of course he would. _Everyone_ had to have family or friends somewhere. Reborn-kun's past had simply never come up in the conversation before, and Nana felt slightly foolish at just how little she knew about her newest house-guest.

So, instead of asking her to come back later or telling her that no such person lived at this residence, Nana invited Bianchi inside for a drink and a snack, observing that she was probably hungry and any friend of Reborn's was a friend to the entire Sawada household and please excuse the mess, won't you, dear?

The girl faltered, as though she genuinely hadn't been expecting this response, before sweeping into the house and slipping off her shoes. She followed Nana to the kitchen and took a seat at the table, watching Nana as she scuttled about the kitchen and whipped up a quick batch of agemochi, serving it with a bowl of fruit and a glass of green tea.

She'd only wanted to ask about how the food tasted (Bianchi said it was absolutely divine), but Nana found that after she'd asked the first question they just kept coming – questions like where she was from (Palermo, which was in Sicily, which was part of Italy, which was the one that was sort of shaped like a boot if Nana remembered her geography correctly), how old she was (seventeen, a little younger than Nana had expected), what her plans for the future were (she wanted to open her own restaurant after she completed culinary school, maybe travel the world to learn about the foods of different cultures and pick up different techniques and ingredients, but her father wanted her to go into the family business instead and she was working on a way to combine the two) – even things like where she'd learned Japanese (there was a branch of her father's business chain in Japan) and whether or not her hair was naturally that beautiful burgundy color (yes, yes it was, thank you for asking).

By that time they'd been chatting for almost an hour and had completely demolished the agemochi and the fruit, and as Nana got up to put the dishes in the sink and pour them some more green tea, she asked how Bianchi knew Reborn.

There was a moment of almost-silence, where Nana felt something growing in the absence of words, and she turned around to see what it was, to possibly repeat her question – but then something in Bianchi's eyes caught her attention and she gave the girl a closer look.

It was that shine, that familiar glimmer-sparkle-flash that suddenly made the muted olive of her eyes gleam brilliant emerald and illuminated her entire face with a beautiful youthful glow –

And suddenly Nana knew that Bianchi had come looking for Reborn because she missed him – that Reborn had most likely not even told her where he was going – that she had searched for him, for however long it took, quite possibly weeks, although she must have been prepared to search for longer than even that – searched for him until her trail of information had finally led her here, to the front porch of the Sawada residence. Bianchi had come looking for Reborn because she missed him, and also because she loved him.

After all, Nana was no novice when it came to love, and this was the kind of love that was unconditional and all-consuming – something she could strongly identify with.

All of those things, she could identify with.

When she set the glasses of tea on the table with a soft but distinctive little clank, Bianchi snapped out of her reverie and blushed, very lightly and almost apologetically. Nana only smiled and covered the Italian girl's hand with her own, and Bianchi looked at her as though she was not used to feeling embarrassed.

It was that look, the look Bianchi gave her after the blush started to fade, that made Nana abruptly understand what had driven her to invite the girl into the house, a stranger who had shown up on her doorstep mere hours before – for one moment, one brief elucidated second, Bianchi's eyes were wide and staring and open and innocent and pleading and, of all things, vulnerable.

There was a tattoo on her arm and a confidence in her step, but she could see that Bianchi was broken and lost, a desperate little girl and a woman scorned all at the same time, and she was so, _so_ vulnerable. Vulnerable, and in love.

She thought about offering some empathy and motherly advice, about telling her what she'd seen, what she knew, what she'd been through – telling her how love could lift you up one moment and bring your whole world crashing down around you the next; telling her that women were strong and that she herself would be stronger than she could ever imagine because when love pushed your limits, you stood strong and pushed back; telling her that love would conquer all because Nana herself was living proof. She thought about giving her a hug, telling her it was all right to be broken and scared, holding her hands until the confident façade she wore became her constant reality.

Instead, Nana stood and offered to show her the guest bedroom.

When she received nothing in response but a blank stare, she cheerfully elaborated that since this was also where Reborn would be staying and it would be a lot cheaper than renting a hotel room and she had come such a long way from home and wouldn't it be much nicer to stay with people who would make her a decent meal once in a while and before she had even finished, the vulnerable girl with the open eyes had disappeared behind a dazzling and truly grateful smile, and that was worth every bit of the motherly advice that she had foregone for the present.

Had it been anyone else, things would have played out decidedly differently. As it were, this was one of those times when Nana knew that different cases required different methods of treatment, and Bianchi was, in a way, a decidedly unique case indeed.

Hours later, when Bianchi had gone to check on Reborn-kun and Tsuna at school, Nana mused that maybe Bianchi's case was not so different from anybody else's after all.

.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.

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><p>Nana is so fricking awesome.<p>

It also took me a really long time to finish this because for a while, I went on a crazy-rabid Harry Potter kick (who couldn't, what with the movie coming out and everything?) which effectively killed my Reborn! mood for a good three to four weeks. Which made me sad and actually weirdly guilty, because I felt bad that this story was sitting forlornly in my Document Manager all unfinished and alone, but...Harry Potter, y'all. Harry Frickin' Potter. It was a big deal.

And I finished this eventually, didn't I? Well - not so far as you can see, anymore, since I turned it into a fricking chapter fic, but it's done. Believe me.

Speaking of which, how about that excellent research of mine showing up in this chapter?

See, that's the problem. You, as a reader, have no idea how much work I put into this monstrosity. It's my longest work ever. It took a _lot_ of research.

Be appreciative and REVIEW!


	5. how tsuna fits into all of this

Okay, new plan. Sorry that my Author Alert (which, if I'm not mistaken, HAS SUDDENLY DECIDED TO WORK) is pretty much spamming you with emails. I was going to wait to upload the chapters, maybe do them a day at a time, but then I got impatient and so that's not the strategy anymore.

Instead, the strategy is to put them all out there _rightnowRIGHTNOW**RIGHTNOW**_ because I have the patience of a five-year-old and the attention span of a slice of cheese and so who knows the next time I could get around to doing this, which, judging from the reviews I got the first go-round, wouldn't much matter to you guys, but it would matter to me.

Either way, not to worry - there's only one more chapter after this, so not too many more spammy emails :D

Enjoy!

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><p>.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.<p>

_v. how tsuna fits into all of this_

It was a miracle, the cry of a child newly brought into the world. Through the haze of pain and agony, the suffocating clutch of the searing talons that had held her whole body straining and captive, it was as though the cry of her baby, her beautiful healthy baby, had been the light that split the darkness, the church bells ringing out crystal clear through the cloudy night. That one cry was a glorious chorus of angel voices, and the pain that had clouded her mind so completely faded to the background of her conscious as she heard more than saw her beautiful baby boy.

That was the first moment she knew that for this child, her beacon of light in a haze of pain and disorientation, she would do anything.

Later, when she and the baby had both been stabilized and her husband was once again by her side holding her hand, the doctors gently told her that she had gone through something called dystocia, an abnormally difficult childbirth.

She remembered pain. So much pain, pain like she'd never felt before and that she prayed, fervently and to every deity she could possibly think of, that she would never feel again.

They told her that it was actually a surprisingly common thing, something they were well-versed in dealing with, but that the reason for all of the complications was that she had started hemorrhaging about an hour into labor.

She remembered blackness, overwhelming all-encompassing blackness that chewed her up and swallowed her whole and frayed her mind and consumed her body and the only thing she had sensed in that blackness was the iron grip her husband had on her hand, but even that had begun to fade after a while, to dissolve into the darkness along with everything else.

They told her the bleeding was massive and that it was surprising she wasn't suffering any severe mental repercussions. They told her that she would feel weak and lightheaded, that it would wear off eventually, that the baby was fine, that none of the complications during the process should affect his physical or mental health. They told her that had she spent one more minute in labor, she most likely would not have survived. It was, they said, a very lucky thing that the child was born when he was.

They named him Tsunayoshi because he was her bond to this world, the one thing that tore her back from the edge of that black abyss that she had balanced so precariously upon and thank every deity she had ever prayed to for that.

Tsuna was small, as a child. Small for his age, shy for his age, a little slow for his age. His teachers said he had trouble making new friends, had trouble paying attention, had trouble understanding the material. They encouraged her to hold him back a grade, have him diagnosed – but she saw it differently. She saw that the friends he did make never left his side because he was so loyal and true. She saw that he was a dreamer, that he dreamed of things that were bigger and better, dreamed of things that other people wouldn't dream of for decades. She saw that he had more pressing issues on his mind than schoolwork, things like how he was going to get home from school and whether or not he could buy his mother flowers with the change he had in his pocket and when his father would come back from his adventures. She saw all of these things the way it seemed no one else could, and she knew she could never, _ever_ crush the small amount self-confidence he had by having a paid professional label him as different or slow.

But she worried, for him.

When he was smaller, he would let her comfort him when he was upset - when he was on the verge of tears thanks to a scraped knee, she was there with a bandage and a hug; when he was frightened by the sheet ghosts and cardboard monsters at his first haunted house, she was there with soothing words and a kind smile; when he was pushed over and nipped at by the neighbor's large dog, she was there with sheltering arms and a kiss to the forehead.

But that had been when he was younger. As soon as he hit age ten, he no longer sought the warmth and security of his mother's arms when he faced difficulties at school or even at home. He was still a dreamer, still loyal and true, but a boy with something to prove now stood in the place of her baby, and she knew there was nothing else for her to do except stand back and watch him begin to fight for his place in the world.

But she worried, for him.

She worried when his academic performance suddenly dipped even lower than usual, she worried when he never brought any friends home from school, and she especially worried when he began to try and hide things like grades or notes from the teacher from her, and when her worrying got the best of her, she began to fight for a place in _his_ world. No longer could she offer a kiss on the head or a bandage for his scraped knee, but she could give him three hot meals a day and a safe place to come home to at night. She encouraged him to be the best he could be and made it a point to tell him that he was the best there was as often as she could. Once he proved that he didn't work well under pressure when she tried to get him to do better in school, she vowed never to push him like that ever again, but she still kept an eye out for tutoring sessions and things that could help improve his academic performance.

She took all of that worry for her baby and channeled it into something productive, and for a while the dynamic between them worked incredibly well.

One evening, shortly after Reborn-kun came to live with them, she had been cooking dinner when she heard the front door open. She'd looked up in time to watch her baby - her kind-hearted, innocent baby - walk slowly over the threshold, close the door carefully behind him, and catch her gaze with eyes that were suddenly so old, so tired, weighted down with something that she couldn't quite place but knew should not weigh on the eyes and heart of someone so young.

His eyes told her that he needed a kiss, a hug, a soothing word and a sheltering arm, but that he could not take it because he knew far, _far_ too much.

His eyes asked her not to ask what was wrong or where he'd been, because he could not tell her and could not bear to refuse to tell her.

So Nana did not offer him comfort or ask where he'd been, or even why he had been out so late. Instead, she smiled at him, her baby, and sat him down for a hot meal while she drew him a bath.

And just like that, their dynamic changed drastically.

But she still worried, now more than ever, for him.

The thought of not being able to care for him because she _couldn't_ rather than that he simply did not want her to ripped up her heart and tore it into little pieces. She would have given anything to take back whatever it was that he had seen or gone through, would have given anything for his innocence again, would have even gone so far as to give her own life, her own soul, to see what he had seen so that he would not have had to see it. The distance between them grew drastically, and she watched as he was swept further and further into that turbulent dark heaviness that consumed more and more of the brightness in his eyes.

And suddenly, as though it was a virus or a contagious disease, she could see it in the eyes of the people that were lucky enough to be a part of his life, too - not as predominantly, but she could still see it. She saw it in the flash of Reborn-kun's eyes when he mentioned anything about his past, and in the recesses of Gokudera-kun's eyes when he thought no one was looking. She could even see it in Yamamoto-kun's eyes, once, when she walked into the kitchen to find him discussing something with Tsuna in a low voice before the two of them straightened up and smiled at her, as if to reassure her, and it broke her heart.

This darkness, this ever-present, oppressive darkness lurking in their eyes - it tore her apart, ate at her conscience for weeks, until one evening she finally looked close enough to see something she'd missed, at first - but no, it was there, clear and shining and beautiful...

It was a flicker of happiness, a speck of brightness, a beautiful glimmer of hope in her baby's eyes that refused to be overtaken by that heaviness, that weariness, that dullness that transformed his shining youthful gaze into something dim and downtrodden.

And then she took a closer look at the others, too, and she realized that she had completely overlooked something _amazing_.

It was the way that Reborn-kun went from intelligent infant to clever and calculating authority figure in a matter of minutes, and how Tsuna both trusted and depended on him for a strength unlike anything she had ever seen; how Yamamoto-kun's smile changed ever-so-slightly from carefree to carefully constructed, as though he was aware that his smile was something that the rest of them depended upon; and especially the way that Gokudera-kun went from a danger to society to a danger to anyone who may or may not be attempting to hurt Tsuna, and how Tsuna, in turn, both appreciated and tried to prove his own worth in that respect. Gokudera, she noticed, was especially important to her baby, and Tsuna was equally as important to him.

Where a mother could not step in, the people who loved him almost as much had stepped up, and while she knew she could never stop worrying entirely, she was content to go back to providing him with three hot meals a day and a safe place to come home to.

She still worried for him, but if this was what Tsuna needed her to be, this was what she would be.

The only time she reconsidered this was the morning she learned Lambo was in the hospital.

.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.

* * *

><p>OMG CLIFFHANGER. (SURPRISED FACE GO!)<p>

8O

So now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure the only reason I know my Author Alert's working is because I have myself on my own Alert subscriptions. It was a tip the lovely PhantomMusic13 gave me when I first started out, to see what other people who have me on Alert will see.

That said, since I know for a fact that my Alert is working because I'm showing up in my own emails, there are no more excuses that can be made, yo. I KNOW you're getting my alerts in your inbox. READ MY STORIES. REVIEW THEM OR I WILL COME AFTER YOU AND-

Wait. Getting creepy. Sorry. It's just that now, if no one reviews, I'll know it was because the fic was so mediocre that no one could be bothered to care, and that will really hurt my feelings a lot, and I just don't know if I can handle that kind of rejection right now.

Review?

(P.S. - I wrote the world "alert" so many times in this post, it's stopped looking like a real word.  
>Oh my gosh, I hate chapter fics so much.)<p> 


	6. why lambo and ipin are far from the end

OH MY GOODNESS LAST CHAPTER.

_Finally._ I've only been at this for like an hour and I have already resolved that no matter how many injuries my pride may or may not receive in the future, I am never ever ever _ever **EVER**_ making anything into a chapter fic ever again ever. I fricking hate this. The process was so tedious and I put a lot more effort than I wanted to into it and I'd already published the damn thing once and that took forever in its own right, and so all in all this sucked.

I really hope I get at least one or two reviews for this, because I might just break something if my labor bears no fruit at _all._

Enjoy.

* * *

><p>.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.<p>

_vi. why lambo and i-pin are far from the end_

She knew something was wrong from the moment she walked into the kitchen.

Though he promised her he would come home before morning, Iemitsu hadn't been in bed when she'd woken up. She'd assumed he was in the kitchen making himself breakfast even though it was far too early for anyone else in the house to be up, but when she turned the corner there was Bianchi, draped listlessly around her cup of coffee and looking as though she'd been awake for a very long time. Beside her on the table was a note in what looked like Iemitsu's handwriting.

An alarm bell suddenly went off inside Nana's head, and then Bianchi looked up from her coffee.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting when she skidded through the hospital doors - Bianchi hadn't told her much, only that Lambo had been admitted to Nami general and that Tsuna was waiting for her there - but she certainly hadn't been expecting to find him in the same clothes he'd been in yesterday, with Gokudera-kun and Yamamoto-kun and even Sasagawa-kun sort of arranged around him like a little barrier from the outside world, sitting unnaturally stiffly in one of the chairs facing the doors. He looked like that baby rabbit he used to be, frightened out of his wits, like he'd just seen a ghost, and that scared her more than anything.

And then he'd looked up to meet her eyes, and his face lifted and fell all at the same time, and it was only when Yamamoto-kun put an encouraging hand on his shoulder that Tsuna rose gingerly from his seat and approached her.

Her body was buzzing with fear and adrenaline and maternal instinct, her mind was whirling at a million kilometers an hour, but everything around her seemed to be moving in slow-motion. She watched him move closer, watched the other boys rise to flank him on all sides like a protective sort of entourage, watched his eyes shining with pain and uncertainty and reluctance and that all-too-familiar heaviness, and she heard herself ask what happened.

He opened his mouth to speak, and nothing came out.

She heard herself ask again, slightly more frantic, trying to keep the majority of the panic she felt out of her voice, keep it from shaking -

She had never before heard him sound so incredibly serious as he did then, when he steeled himself and asked her to take care of Lambo-kun. When he told her that he was unable to explain what happened.

Nana felt another shock of adrenaline, felt her stomach plummet as her heart leaped into her mouth. It wasn't that he couldn't tell her. It was that he _wouldn't_ tell her.

She repeated his words breathlessly, hoping he hadn't meant them, knew that she couldn't keep the incredulity and hurt she felt from seeping into her tone -

And he told her he was sorry.

And she felt her heart crack, deep and jagged, right down the middle. She felt her face betray her own betrayal. She felt her mouth shape his name, disbelieving and deeply distressed.

She watched his eyes sink to the floor, and she knew she'd get no more out of him.

She moved forward numbly, only vaguely aware of the sea of teenage boys who parted down the middle to let her through, and heard herself ask for Lambo-kun's room number. One of the boys spoke up, although she couldn't be bothered to tell which one, and she stepped into the elevator and pressed for the fourth floor.

As the doors slid closed, she saw Tsuna sink back down onto a chair with his head in his hands, curling in on himself.

The elevator rose agonizingly slowly, and when she finally stepped out and hurried down the hallway, she was more afraid than she could ever remember being in her entire life.

The little boy that awaited her in that hospital bed was very nearly unrecognizable.

A shock of fear, sick and ice cold, washed over her at the sight of him, her worst nightmares realized in vivid detail before her very eyes. This weak and broken Lambo-kun, scratched and burned and limp and still, was so incredibly different from the vivacious and energetic little boy who scampered happily around her legs in the kitchen and tried to eat the food she was making before it had even reached the table. He was breathing shallowly, an oxygen mask strapped to his nose and mouth, and she could see several places where his skin had been cut or charred, as if he'd been struck by lightning. In fact, a lot of his injuries pointed towards some kind of burn - his pretty curly hair was singed, still smoking in some places, and his horns and little cow suit were scorched and browned.

She smoothed his hair back from his face and felt her eyes well up with tears, too fast for her to stop them.

Lambo-kun was in the hospital, seriously injured, and she would not be told how it happened.

In some ways it was even worse than if she'd been lied to. If only Tsuna had made up a lie, showed her that he didn't trust her, showed her that he was dishonest, gave her _something_ to latch on to or to blame -

But he had looked at her, his face wide open and full of regret and self-reproach, and told her that he would not be able to tell her the reason. The guilt in his voice and in his eyes was so clear, and the striking solemnity of the boys that flanked him was so weighty with remorse and helplessness, and every single one of them had their jaws set and their fists clenched and their heavy eyes downcast, and she felt...

She felt ambushed. She felt excluded, distrusted, out of the loop and in the dark and kept that way on purpose, and the note from Iemitsu only proved her point.

She almost burst into tears when she had to think up a lie about what happened to Lambo to feed to Kyoko-chan and Haru-chan.

Nana had promised herself that she would be what Tsuna needed her to be, what Iemitsu asked her to be, what her intuition told her to be. She very rarely questioned the things that went on in Tsuna's life. She never asked where Iemitsu was going to be sent next. She was strong and sweet and silent, and she could give them both something to be anchored to, a steady foundation and a warm and loving home.

She had also made a promise to herself to protect her entire family, and the battered and broken little boy breathing shallowly in front of her told her that she had broken one promise to uphold another.

This had gone too far.

The razed little figure in the hospital bed stirred for a moment, moving his head from side to side in a pained and uncomfortable sort of way, and Nana swiftly placed the gently dozing child she'd been holding in her lap onto the chair before anxiously pressing the call button on the side of the bed rails. She watched as one of the nurses hurried in and pressed a few buttons on some of the machines Lambo-kun was hooked up to, what she could only assume was connected to the pain medications he was on, because after a moment the lines in his furrowed brow relaxed and he stopped his tossing and turning.

She sat back down, resting her chin on the head of the still-sleeping little girl she once again held in her lap and watching the rise and fall of Lambo-kun's chest as his breathing evened out once more.

No one else could get hurt like Lambo-kun.

_No one_.

The baby in her lap tilted her face up to smile at her, to ask in sweet and broken Japanese if Mama was all right. She couldn't help but smile back, smoothing an errant strand of hair back from her forehead and into place in her otherwise-impeccable braid, telling the little girl that she was all right and that in a few days, Lambo-kun would be, too. I-pin seemed satisfied with that, turning back to fit more comfortably in the safe little cocoon of warmth she'd been sleeping in, and Nana knew that nothing like this would ever happen to any of her children again, because she would make sure of it.

The nurse that had been fiddling with Lambo-kun's pain medications straightened up and made to leave the room, but stopped to tell Nana, almost as an afterthought, that at this time only family was allowed to be in the room with Lambo-kun because visiting hours were over.

She turned back to the sleeping boy in the hospital bed and told the nurse that she _was_ family.

The nurse, who at second glance Nana thought looked remarkably young, squinted as if surprised and asked if she was his mother.

Nana smiled, reaching out and taking that little hand that rested on top of the bedclothes, squeezing it affectionately. She felt a surge of love and protectiveness, of life and happiness and loyalty, and there was not a single trace of doubt in her mind or in her voice.

"_Yes_," she told the nurse. "_I _am_ his mother_."

.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.~o~.

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><p>Jesus Christ, that was ridiculous.<p>

Well, for all the effort I put into this damn thing, it ended up showing off my proclivity for commas far too well. And I do understand that you probably felt like you had to really wade through a couple parts.

I'd love some feedback, though. Really, I would.

Also, I tried something different with the line breaks. I think I like this better.

(Oh my goodness, I love Nana~ :D)


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